


Share a Split World

by Mirimea



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Blow Jobs, Dream Sex, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Religious Guilt, Romance, Roommates, Smut, Uniform Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5305688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirimea/pseuds/Mirimea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes about a year for Connor McKinley to reach a breaking point. (College!AU) </p><p>(Updated with a smutty side!fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a tiny tumblr WIP based on a prompt "Kevin and Connor are roomates in college who like eachother just a little bit". It was just supposed to be a ficlet, but it got away from me a bit. Either way, I hope you enjoy. I'd love to hear what you think!

For someone who is supposedly a Latter Day Saint and has recently returned from his two-year mission, Connor's new roommate drinks an awful lot of coffee.

He is a tall boy with light brown hair, wiry muscles and admirable work ethic which involves many a late nights, something Connor might have found disrespectful if he himself hadn’t suffered from middle insomnia since, well, pretty much since he had hit puberty and a certain brand of guilt-ridden, lustful nightmares had begun. As it is now, he takes a strange kind of comfort from listening to the steady rattle of laptop keys as he disentangles from his sheets and tries to tame his wildly beating heart.

"To be fair, I don’t go to church anymore," Price admits, as though he feels the need to defend his life choices to a guy who he has known for less than two weeks. Maybe Connor does looks as disapproving as he feels.

"I'm not judging you," Connor hurries to explain. "I'm just... surprised, is all."

Serving as a district leader on his own mission, Connor is sadly not a stranger to Elders that lose faith during their two years working in the service of the church, whether it is due to loneliness, or depression, or inability to connect with the teachings of their local mission president. The atmosphere could become pretty cagey at times, Connor remembers, and _he_ hadn’t even been sent to any strange and exotic place like Uganda the way Price apparently had.

His skin is still tanned from the ordeal, and his hair appears sun-bleached, and he reminds Connor a bit of a Greek god; Connor mentally pauses at that and swiftly kicks _that_ particular thought out of his head. There. Nothing.

Either way, Price seems to be a pretty good roommate. He’s neat and obviously fresh from the experience of sharing his space with his mission companion twenty four hours a day. If it hadn’t been for his well-built body, Connor might even have called him _perfect_. As it is now, it’s a bit of a trial.

Because Connor’s traitorous brain has noticed that, for one thing, Price definitely doesn’t wear temple garments. And Connor tries not to look when Price returns from the showers with just a towel wrapped snugly around his hips and a thin t-shirt covering his upper body. He definitely _doesn’t_ glance at Price’s reflection in the window when Price changes shirt or steps into his pants in the morning. Connor had put those sinful thoughts and temptations behind him once he left his teenage years behind, after all.

But why does something so sinful feel _so_ _good_? Connor desperately asks himself through his whirl of dreams about Price’s mouth, hot like hell itself against his throat or wrapped around his… well! His body burns with hellish fire but tingles with all the pleasures of the earthly world.

And Connor will wake up struggling with his sheets and in embarrassing need of _relief._

Price pauses in his typing, glances towards his bed as though sensing that Connor is awake. “Nightmare?”

Connor rolls onto his side, pulling at his sheets to make sure they cover any evidence of his arousal. “Yes. Sorry. I get them sometimes.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Price sounds bewildered.

_Because I dream about your lips wrapped around my dick_ , Connor thinks. _And your teeth marking my skin._ He doesn’t say this, of course, merely shakes his head and rolls over to face the wall. The room is silent for a few moments, then, Price resumes his typing.

* * *

 

“Oh come on,” Price groans as he opens the door to their room. “Not more show tunes.”

“Sorry.” Connor lowers the volume considerably, a bit embarrassed at being caught in the act. “Didn’t know you’d be back already.”

Price shrugs. “Class was cancelled and the good spots in the library were taken.” His hair is ruffled by the autumn wind; a frown caught between his eyebrows. He’s cute even when he’s grumpy. And it’s not like it is his fault that Connor is having unnatural urges, so Connor has decided that it’s safe not to hate him. Which is a good thing, because a) it’d be pretty unbearable to hate your roommate and b) Price may be a bit arrogant, but he’s generally pretty nice and Connor actually likes him as more than unwitting eye candy.

“Yes, how’s Psych going for you?” Connor had taken that class last year; it had been one of his favorites, so he is surprised when Price looks a bit reluctant and shrugs.

“It’s pretty… vague.”

Connor’s eyebrows rise at the thought of anyone not being as into the subject as he is, which is probably unfair, but _really_. “You can’t say that the professor isn’t great?”

Price shrugs again, looks somewhat uncomfortable with having his opinion challenged. “Well. Help me with it, and I’ll help you with Stats?”

Because Connor may or may not have groaned over his statistics problems last night, and that is how he somehow ends up tutoring his roommate in psychology, which somehow feels like irony even though Connor can’t quite pin-point the exact reason for it.

And to be fair, it’s not like Price is trying to get off easy because he is obviously intent on learning, even though his impatience with anything that doesn’t come easy to him nearly has him quit several times (“There are more useful subjects to learn, anyway, right?”). He’s not a very good teacher, either, because he can’t quite seem to comprehend why Connor doesn’t _get_ mathematics the way he does.

But in the end, it works out okay, Connor thinks, because neither of them fail their classes, and Connor has the added bonus of learning to see Price as something other than a perfectly shaped, desirable heretic, which he thinks might help, except it doesn’t really.

Because in the process, Connor learns that Price is smart, and he’s actually pretty kind (at least when he remembers to be) and he’s even a bit of a dork.

And Connor definitely hasn’t developed a crush.  

No way.

* * *

 

"So when are you heading home?" Connor asks, because it's the twenty-second of December and by now it's a legitimate question. He is in the process of carefully folding the clothes that he wants to bring home over Christmas, but Price is reclining on his bed with a book in his hand and looks like he has all the time in the world to just relax now that the last assignments of the year have been handed in.

"I'm not," Price says shortly and turns a page. Connor pauses, a shirt hanging from his hands.

"Really? You're staying here over Christmas?" He can't imagine anything more depressing. The dorms are steadily emptying and will probably be completely deserted over the holidays.

Price shrugs, and Connor’s conscience can’t possibly let another person be alone over Christmas.

“Why don’t you come with me then?” Price blinks at him and Connor scratches the back of his head, a little awkward once he realizes what he has offered. “I mean, it’ll just be my parents and my sisters and their families, but it’s better than being alone, right?”

Price purses his lips as he seems to think it over; then he tilts his head, smiles slightly. “I guess. Thanks.”

And Connor beams back, thinks that maybe having contact with a good, Mormon family again will help Price rekindle his faith. Another, small part of his mind is screaming at him for inviting the source of his sinful thoughts into his own home to meet his parents.

But Price turns out to be as ideal of a houseguest as he is roommate.

“Kevin,” he introduces himself as he shakes the hands of Connor’s parents, his back straight, shoulders squared and smile bright in a way that doesn’t strike Connor as quite genuine; however, his parents don’t seem to notice. In fact, Connor notes that they seem a little bit smitten with the all-American charm that Price is reeking of tonight.

When they open their gifts in the morning, after Connor’s nieces and nephews have torn the wrapping papers off theirs, Price politely thanks his parents for the hand-knitted mittens he had received and that Connor suspects had been originally intended for him; not that it matters. Price had given his parents a box of rather exclusive chocolate; everything is peace and joy. No one even seems to mind too much when Price politely declines their attempts to convince him to accompany them to church.

Connor spends the entire sermon trying to come up with ways of repenting for his sinful fantasies. He hasn’t gotten a break from Price, who sleeps on an air mattress that they have somehow managed to squeeze into Connor’s room. He is so close that they could touch without problem if they had wanted to; close enough that Connor can hear Price’s quiet snores.

That night they’re watching a Christmas concert on television, and Connor is so comfortable and full of food that he’s almost drifting off to sleep when Elton John comes on and Connor’s brother-in-law huffs, says, “People like him belong in hell.”

And for a short moment Connor thinks that it’s the hitch in his own breath that he notices, but then he realizes that Price has stiffened next to him. He glances at him quickly, notes that Price’s lips are pressed together and Connor feels his heart flutter, with confusion, possibly.

No one in the living room really replies to the comment. Another artist comes on, another Christmas song is played, and Connor doesn’t know anything anymore. 

* * *

 

“So, why didn’t you go home this Christmas?” Connor asks later when they’re both in pajamas and lounging on the beds in Connor’s room. Price is doing something on his phone while Connor has been trying to keep his attention on his book. He has avoided this question out of politeness since Price hasn’t seemed very keen on sharing this information, but something about the situation, something about Price’s strangely impersonal behavior, keeps nagging at the back of Connor’s mind until he can’t keep quiet anymore.

Price looks up from his phone, eyebrows raised. “Why are you asking?”

Connor smiles apologetically because he thinks that Price might look a little bit defensive. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say. I’m just curious.”

Price puts his phone down and pushes himself into a seated position; the air mattress groans under him as the weight shifts. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Oh, interesting.”

“Not really.” Price grimaces, his face closed off as though he is remembering something unpleasant. “Well, anyway. I was excommunicated after my mission.”

Connor feels his mouth fall into an o-shape as he tries to take in that piece of information. Struggling with your faith is one thing; the church completely losing faith in _you_ is another. “What happened?”

But Price merely shrugs. “I’d stepped away from the LDS teachings long before that. But my dad is a bishop and in the disciplinary council, so, it’s…sensitive.”

“Your parents threw you out?”

“Not exactly. We just… don’t talk much.” Price’s cheek twitches, as though he tries to at least half-smile, but fails, and Connor thinks that it mostly looks morose. “Can you believe I used to be really devout, too? The church was my life.”

“So what changed?”

Price waves a hand in the air as if trying to illustrate something abstract. “Stuff. And critical thinking. Like, once I started picking things apart, I couldn’t stop. A lot of things just don’t make _sense_ , you know?”

The comment prickles as something in Connor’s mind that is entirely forbidden; it’s immediately pushed away and soothed by the parts of him that knows better. He wets his lips with his tongue. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” he says simply, neutrally. Part of him wishes to bring up how much the church can help you through rough times, a response which had been drilled into him at the MTC and during his own mission; every non-believer is a challenge you need to face. But Price’s face is pinched and he is worrying his hands together, and Connor is not too absorbed by his teachings so not to recognize when someone needs a friend rather than a lecture.

Price nods, is quiet for a moment before he clears his throat, says, “Anyway. Thank you for inviting me here.”

“Of course!” Connor smiles. “We’re happy to have you.”

The look Price gives him doesn’t appear entirely convinced, and Connor remembers the reaction from him earlier, downstairs, during the Christmas concert. And Connor has to admit to himself that there is a lot he doesn’t know about Price, _really_ knows about him. Who are his friends? What does he do when he’s not studying or reading? Does he date?

The thought churns unpleasantly in his stomach, but is then replaced by something horrible and titillating as the mental picture of Price with another man enters his mind. It’s like he is made for those fantasies and Connor can imagine it with embarrassing clarity; the kisses, a strong jawbone, defined muscles… he shakes his head. There. Gone.

_Could that really… be a possibility?_ A weak voice whispers from the back of his mind.

“Are you okay?” Connor blinks at Price, who makes a gesture to his own face. “You’re a little flushed.”

He resists his urge to cover his cheeks by his hands. “I’m fine. Just a little warm, is all. Maybe we should go to sleep?”

In the calm darkness of his childhood room, Connor allows himself to replace the anonymous man with himself and he even gets one guilt-free moment of the sweet fantasy before he catches himself.

Maybe his resolve is weakening, he thinks, tiredly. But Price isn’t a bad guy; in fact, he might be the most strangely (and perhaps sometimes even reluctantly) logical person that Connor has ever met. And it’s so difficult to imagine someone like him going to hell, or even being wrong about something. 

Connor drifts off to sleep, and for once, he doesn’t dream.

* * *

 

“So, how is your roommate? Kevin?” Connor’s youngest sister Melissa asks into the phone at the same time as Price walks through the door, balancing a tray with cereal and a glass of juice.

Connor glances at him. “Fine, I think?”

“Tell him I said hi,” she says and Connor recognizes the wistfulness in her voice; Melissa is the only McKinley daughter that is still unmarried.

He scratches his cheek, feeling a little awkward with the idea. “Sure.”

She sighs. “Well. I should get back to work. It was nice talking to you, little brother.”

“You too,” Connor says automatically. He hangs up, looks at his phone in his hand for a moment before putting it aside. “My sister has a crush on you,” he tells Price.

Price’s hand stops mid-air between the bowl and his mouth, milk and cereal dripping from the spoon. “Which one?”

“The one that’s single, of course!” he says, scandalized, then, when Price still looks befuddled, adds, “Melissa. Red hair?”

“Oh.” Price puts the spoon to rest in his bowl. “I don’t think I ever spoke to her?”

Well, at least it’s not just Connor who is taken in my Price’s exterior. “I can set you two up, if you want?” he offers, trying to make it seem like the idea doesn’t make him want to scream.

Price squints at him for just a moment longer than feels natural, as though he is questioning Connor’s sanity. “Um. No thanks.”

Connor tries to feel offended on his sister’s behalf; it doesn’t quite work. “You sure?” he pauses, makes sure to come across as casual. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

Price shifts in his chair, glancing away, and Connor thinks his cheeks might be a little pink, which is really strangely adorable. “No.”

“Okay then.” At Price’s almost anxious look, he adds, “Don’t worry. I won’t play matchmaker.”

“Oh thank God.” Price leans back again, reaching for his spoon.

After Christmas, things had slipped back into the old routine of morning classes, study groups and Price’s late-night study sprees. The new thing is that Connor has finally ventured outside of his comfort zone to join the student theatre group. He has yet to tell his parents about it, because student theatre turns out to be a lot different from the church pageants Connor had participated in at home, and the environment is not always altogether appropriate. But it’s good to broaden one’s horizons, Connor thinks, even though he often feels depressingly out of place in the theatre crowd.

Price, on the other hand, seems to have doubled his efforts regarding school work, and it was only recently that Connor learned why; he is on a merit-based scholarship that will be revoked if his GPA drops.

Connor leans back on his bed and sneaks at glance at Price, whose eyes are moving back and forth while he skims his textbook between spoonfuls of cereal. He doesn’t really get the impression that Price is lonely, per se, but sometimes Connor still feels sad for his roommate’s sake, if only because Connor can’t imagine what it would feel like to be as cut off from his family that he is beginning to realize that Price is. He doesn’t know exactly what had happened on Price’s mission in Uganda, but apparently it had been a source of embarrassment for the church, and Connor ought to be ashamed of his curiosity regarding the matter.

Either way, it seems like Price gets along well enough with his classmates, as far as Connor can tell, even though he doesn’t have many social commitments. And Price occasionally speaks on the phone with someone who Connor gathers used to be Price’s mission companion; a guy with a voice so loud and grating that Connor can hear him from across the room and Connor is surprised by how patient Price is with him.

But the guy at least makes Price smile, even laugh, and Connor doesn’t even have the energy to deny any more how pleasant he finds that sight to be.

Darn it.

* * *

 

Price reaches a bit of a breaking point a couple of months later; right in time for midterms. Connor has been down with the flu for the better part of the week; it has been passed around to most of the people in the theatre group so it had probably been inevitable, really. Price has been pretty good about it; hiding out in the library during the days and bringing back food and medicine in the evenings without much comment. Maybe his bedside manner isn't the best, but Connor feels weak like a kitten and he appreciates the gestures for what they are.

And maybe Price is so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he doesn't even realize that he's getting sick, too, or maybe he simply thinks that he can power through it. Either way, Connor wakes up in the middle of the night and for the first time in days, his mind feels so clear it almost makes him feel lost. As usual, Price's desk lamp is on, the light comforting in its sheer familiarity; except instead of the typical rattle of laptop keys, Connor realizes what had woken him up: the sound of quick, short breaths, too uneven to be completely natural.

Price is hunched over his desk with his head in his hands, shoulders shaking slightly. Connor struggles to free himself from his blankets, feels awkward and weak as he stands up. His pajamas feels ratty and his legs strange to walk on, but he heads over to Price's desk, hesitantly puts a hand on his roommate's shoulder. "Hey."

Guilt shoots through him when Price startles so badly he almost falls off his chair, but at least it pulls him out of whatever sort of melt-down he is having. He looks up at Connor with red-rimmed, feverish eyes, and Connor feels a bit awkward as he wonders if Price had really been crying just now.

"You okay?" he asks, wincing both at the stupid question and at how raspy his voice is.

Price blinks at him, clears his throat several times and rubs his face with his hands. "Yeah. Sorry, just... tired. Can't focus."

Before he thinks about it, Connor reaches out to put a palm on Price’s forehead, then immediately finds himself forced to resist the urge to brush his fingers through Price’s somewhat disheveled hair. The sheer possibility making such a gesture makes his fingers tingle; part of his mind is horrified. "You have a fever. Go to bed."

"I have to finish these review problems," Price mutters, but leans his face against Connor's hand. It makes his heart flutter and he withdraws the hand, holding it awkwardly in the air.

"Later," he says, making use of the district leader tone of voice that he had perfected a few years ago, then finds use of his hand again to pat Price's shoulder. "Go ahead."

"I do feel strange," Price admits, like this is the first time he realizes that he might not be at a hundred percent. Connor watches him collapse on his bed, still fully clothed, kicking with his feet to get himself under the covers.

In the week that follows, Connor gets to return the favor of taking care of his sick roommate, which mostly means that he has to soothe Price's frazzled nerves while he frets over his midterm exams and remind him that exam retakes is an actual thing. And in the end, of course, things turns out fine, and the flu season passes.

* * *

 

Connor reaches _his_ breaking point even later, when the weather is milder and the snow has melted. And just like Price, he doesn’t notice that the point is approaching until he is suddenly _there_.

It starts with a conversation between Connor and the theater group’s head of costume design. They’ve never really talked before, so Connor is surprised when she approaches him one Friday after rehearsals.

“There’s a party at my dorm tonight,” she says as she shrugs into her jacket, then fumbling with the strap of her bag to correct its position. “Just wanted to make sure you knew, most of the guys will be there I think.”

With ‘the guys’, Connor assumes she means the rest of the people in their group. He had, in fact, not known about it, but then, he’s not a party type of guy, nor does he always fit in with the college crowds. 

“Oh,” he says, smiling at her. “Okay.”

She hesitates. “I mean, you’ll come, right? You don’t have to drink or anything.” She makes a vague hand gesture; of course, most of them know that he’s a devout Mormon, and not everyone know how to approach the subject. “Not if you don’t want to, at least.”

“I know.” And because Connor doesn’t really have an excuse not to go, and also, it would be nice to get to know the other members a bit better, he shrugs. “What time?”

“Well, any time after nine, I’d say.” She grins at him, holding up the door for him as they head outside. “I’ll see you then!”

“Yes, see you.”

Connor heads to his afternoon class, then eats an early dinner before heading home. Price is not around, but that in itself is not unusual. It gives Connor the privacy of fretting a bit over appropriate clothes, and at what time he should head to the party. ‘After nine’ is pretty vague but he doesn’t want to be early so in the end he ends up waiting until eleven before he trudges across the lawn.  

He knocks on the door, muffled music playing inside, but no one opens so in the end he simply walks inside. And it’s pretty much like any of the few other college parties Connor has been to, music playing from computer speakers, groups of people holding bottles and paper cups as they talk to each other. No one seems to notice to Connor’s arrival; he scans the groups to try and find someone he knows and is surprised to catch sight of Price, standing to the side, looking a little out of place and pretty disinterested, nursing a glass of amber liquid.

Price seems to notice him at the same time and nods, so Connor slides past the groups of people to join him.

"Having fun?" he asks, and he hadn't intended for it to come out sarcastic but with the discomfort they’re both displaying, somehow it does. He eyes the glass in Price's hand. "Is that alcohol?”

Price huffs out a laugh. "No, _mom_." He swirls the liquid as if that would somehow magically make it easier for Connor to discern its content. "Apple juice. I draw the line at caffeine. Well, after it, I guess."

"Well, it's your body to poison."

Price's eyebrows go up. "You're in a bad mood tonight."

"Sorry." Connor sighs, a little embarrassed, rubbing a hand across his face. "I didn’t really want to come here.” At Price’s quizzical look he elaborates. “Not my scene.”

"Really," Price says dryly. He sets his glass aside on the table and dries the condensate from his hand by rubbing his palm against his thigh. "Want to go home?"

Connor hesitates. "I just arrived. I should say hello to the hosts at least, right?" He scans the crowd again but can’t find anyone from his theatre group. Maybe they have already moved on to some other place. “Or maybe not.”

Connor stands to the side while Price digs around for his jacket before they head outside, walking quietly side by side. Since it is Friday evening, the dorm areas are not exactly deserted; there is music playing from several windows and people strolling across the lawns.

“So how come you were there tonight?” Connor asks after a moment, glancing at Price. “Didn’t seem like your scene, either.”

“My study group went there directly from the library,” Price admits. “I just tagged along.”

Connor nods absent-mindedly. It’s late enough that they could head directly to bed, he thinks, but it feels like a dull way to end a Friday evening. Maybe he can convince Price that they watch a movie; if he suggests something animated or otherwise family friendly, Price will probably agree.

“Can I ask you something?” Price says then, startling him out of his thoughts. He sounds almost hesitant, which is enough to make Connor curious.

“Of course,” he says. “What is it?”

“You… like me, right?”

Even at the chance that Price means it in a completely innocent way, it’s like a bucket of cold water over his head; he stops. “What?”

Price stops as well, half-a-step ahead of him, turning around to face him even though he doesn’t quite meet Connor’s eyes. He’s wringing his hands, movements seeming a little stiff. “I’m sorry. I mean. Jeez.” He lets out a shaky sigh. “I’ve just been wondering if it would be okay if I did this.”

He takes a step forward, startling him, but Connor feels as though his feet are stuck to the ground and he allows Price to close the distance between them. He feels a hand on his back, a warm and light touch, as though still asking for permission. And then Price is kissing him. His lips are dry and tender and it’s probably not the smoothest kiss in the world, but Connor has very little to compare it to so he thinks it is pretty marvelous.

And Connor is only a man and the warm proximity of Price _does_ something to him, both his brain and his body, and he can’t help but begin to respond to the kiss, even going so far as to place both his hands on Price’s shoulders. His heart is fluttering in his chest and he wants _more_ , except his brain is beginning to catch up with him. He takes a step back. “We shouldn’t…”

One look at Price’s face almost wrecks him because he looks so sweetly nervous. “I’m sorry. Maybe I read you wrong…”

“No,” Connor says. “Yes! It just… it isn’t right.” His entire body longs for more touch now, and it isn’t fair.

“Oh.” Price presses his lips together, then shakes his head. “There are many things I used to think were wrong.”  

“Were you always this pragmatic?” Connor asks, breathless, and he’s totally deflecting.

The breath that Price lets out sounds shaky. “A million times no. That’s what excommunication does to you.”

“Sounds sad.” Connor is not sure why he says it in that particular tone, because it sounds almost playful even though it’s totally inappropriate of him.

“I don’t know.” Price shakes his head, a little smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips in response. “It’s not all bad.”

They’re still so close together that Connor can feel heat radiating from him, and _that_ is Connor’s breaking point. Because he _knows_ Price, has lived with him for almost a year now and it’s not just about all those dreams and fantasies anymore. It’s about seeing that smile that makes butterflies flutter in Connor’s stomach in the best way possible, and about hearing his soft snores in the morning and thinking ‘adorable’ rather than ‘annoying’. And for once, Connor lets go of his worries and decides to do what feels natural; steal another kiss.

It’s Price’s turn to look surprised for a millionth of a second before he begins to respond, and everything just feels so very, very lovely; Connor thinks he could do _this_ forever. Or at least until some passing drunk student decides to shout something encouraging and very indecent; it makes both of them take a step back and Connor feels his face heat up. Price’s face is pink as well.

“Maybe we should head back,” Connor suggests, and darn it if he doesn’t suddenly feel shy. A part of his mind if still reeling, from shock or horror or enjoyment or something else.

Price reaches out to take his hand. “Let’s.”

* * *

 

The dorm room beds are certainly too small for two people, but Connor doesn’t even mind waking up squished close to Price (well, he should start to call him Kevin now, right?), their limbs entangled until it’s like they’re one single entity. They’re both fully dressed, and Connor doesn’t know at what point during the movie that he had fallen asleep. The computer screen on the bedside table is black now, but the room is starting to brighten as the sun rises outside. The room looks different from this angle, Connor thinks; he feels strangely calm and feels himself begin to drift off again.   


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the smutty side!fic I talked about! It has very little in terms of plot; I just wanted to let Connor experience some action after a whole ~~year~~ life of sexual frustration.  >.>

Sex is entirely different from what Connor had imagined it to be. It’s a learning curve, for one thing, and it’s good that they are both only too willing to practice with each other. In the beginning Connor mostly just wants to _touch_ even though he has no direct goal as to what he wants to do other than memorizing each part of Kevin’s body and see how Kevin reacts to his touches.  

Because real Kevin is nothing like in Connor’s dreams, he finds. Apparently desire _can_ be devoid of darkness and pain and guilt, it can actually be sweet and nervously tender, and Kevin is surprisingly modest when it comes to, well, anything that involves getting naked. It takes some time getting used to this strange meeting of fantasy and reality and Connor _is_ having the time of his life but he’s also forced to come to terms with that his ideas of sex might be a little more… elaborate than Kevin’s have probably ever been. He ought to feel ashamed of himself, but once Connor has dived off into the deep end it’s surprisingly easy to just keep swimming, and Kevin is usually pretty fine with anything that makes Connor swoon, especially swoon over _him_.

“This okay?” Kevin asks, stepping away from the shelter of the wardrobe door, tugging at his tie to straighten it. There is a little frown between his eyebrows, as though he’s not sure what exactly is expected of him.

“Oh,” Connor says faintly. “Definitely.”

Once he had realized that Kevin still had a few mission uniforms stored in the back of his closet, Connor had spent an embarrassing amount of time during boring lectures imagining entirely inappropriate things about those uniforms. He’s never actually seen Kevin wear them, for one thing. And the uniforms are somehow a physical manifestation of a time of Connor’s life that had involved a lot of guilt and repression. To allow himself to freely fantasize about it is strangely freeing.

Kevin hadn’t been reluctant about it, per se. He had agreed to try it readily enough, looking just a little confused.

And it turns out, it’s actually _better_ than Connor could have imagined. Kevin stands tall, shoulders squared, looking almost impossibly proper as he brushes imaginary lint from his shoulders, having even taken the time to pin his name tag to his chest. He resists the urge to fan his suddenly hot face, feels a little underdressed in his regular chinos and shirt.

“Yes,” he repeats when he realizes that Kevin is just standing there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s perfect. Thank you.” He walks up to his boyfriend, brushing his fingertips over his shoulders, just because he can.

“You’re so weird sometimes,” Kevin says, cheeks pink, even as he automatically rests his hands at the small of Connor’s back.

“Oh shush,” Connor says, covering up his embarrassment by leaning up to kiss his straight-laced Mormon missionary (except not really, but Connor is getting into the mindset now) of a boyfriend. Kevin responds readily enough, bending his neck to accommodate the slight height-difference. The hands at Connor’s back become more insistent, pulling him closer; Connor feels justified to run his own hands up Kevin’s back.

He ought to be ashamed that he’s already fully hard; but at least he can feel Kevin’s arousal growing against him as he grinds his hips against Connor’s.

“So what else did you have in mind?” Kevin asks between kisses, his breath hot against Connor’s cheek, and Connor can feel blood rush to his face because he _knows_ how the fantasy usually goes but he feels crude saying it.

“Um,” he says intelligently, gripping Kevin’s shoulders when he dips his fingers down the waistband of his pants. “I mean, only if you want to--”

Kevin raises his head, looking confused. His hair is already mussed, and Connor can’t even remember when he had begun to run his hand through it. “What?”

“Would you please… with your mouth?”

And then Kevin’s eyes widen with understanding; for a short moment he looks like he’s biting back a grin. Then he simply gives a half-nod, fingers already working to undo Connor’s belt.

They’ve given each other blow jobs a few times, Connor being the one that mostly initiates it because he does so love the way Kevin responds to his mouth and because there is something incredibly wanton about it that makes his tingling desire centralize in the pit of his stomach in an absolutely wonderful way.

Kevin pushes him back a step to lean against their chest of drawers, unbuttoning Connor’s pants and pushing them down to his thighs along with his underwear. Connor’s arousal bobs up and Connor thinks, as always, that it’s a bit obscene. But Kevin doesn’t seem to mind as he lowers himself down to the floor.

And the sight of Kevin on his knees, still fully and properly dressed in his mission uniform, well, it _does_ things to Connor that he doesn’t even know how to explain. He puts his palms on the chest of drawers to steady himself when Kevin’s fingers tease him for a moment before holding onto the base of his cock as he finally wraps his lips around the head.

“Oh,” he whimpers when Kevin begins to take him in as far as he can, oh so slowly, his mouth hot and putting just enough pressure on him. “Oh lord.”

Kevin makes a muffled sound of amusement against him that nearly undoes him, then Kevin pulls back again, faster, moving his tongue against him. And it is something almost embarrassing and lewd about watching someone give you a blowjob, Connor thinks, but he can’t look away. He rests his hands on Kevin’s head and has to make a serious effort not to begin to push him to move in just the right pace that Connor _needs_. He can’t help but grind his hips to meet Kevin’s movements however, and then Kevin’s hand moves from the base of his cock to tease his balls and _oh_.

His grip on Kevin’s hair tightens despite himself as he forces Kevin’s head away from him; Kevin looks up with a frown. His lips are shiny with saliva.

“Sorry,” Connor gasps as the edge recedes. “Just… not yet.”

The frown relaxes as Kevin gets it. He dries his lips with the back of his hand. He hesitates for just a moment, one hand still on Connor’s hip, and it’s enough for Connor to take him by the collar and urging him to stand up so that Connor can give him a kiss.

In this position, he can feel Kevin’s uniform pants against his naked arousal and he realizes that Kevin is still fully dressed and not even complaining about it. He reaches up to loosen Kevin’s tie for him, guiltily. He can feel Kevin’s own cock strain against his clothes.

“That must be uncomfortable,” he says, stroking a palm over it and enjoying the way Kevin whimpers at his touch.

“Well, this was your idea,” Kevin mumbles, grinding his hips against Connor’s touch. “I just aim to please.”

“You’re so good at it, too,” Connor says, mock-comfortingly, and he can’t help but feel a little giddy because his boyfriend _is_ pretty neat. “Bed?”

“Please.”

On the way, Kevin takes matters into his own hands and unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants while Connor decides to follow suit and step out of his pants completely and pull his shirt over his head before he follows.

“Shirt on,” he says before Kevin has the time to even start undoing his tie completely. “Please?”

Kevin’s cheeks turn red even as he rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

He sits down on the bed, pants only pushed down to his thighs. Connor suddenly feels very naked in comparison; he can feel his skin tingle as Kevin watches him, hurries to join him by the bed to shrug off any moment of awkwardness.  

“So how do you want to do this?” Kevin asks, as though Connor is the sole benefactor from this. But just for now, Connor doesn’t really mind.

“Can you?” He pushes at Kevin’s shoulders until he leans back a little, looking confused until Connor moves to straddle him. “Okay?”

“Yes,” Kevin says, and his voice sounds a little faint. “This is, um. Good.”

“Good,” Connor repeats, because when he leans forward and grinds down, Kevin’s cock is against his own and that is just a really, _really_ good feeling, okay? And Kevin seems to think so as well because he begins to meet Connor’s movements the best he can, but, Connor has a goal now and he shouldn’t get distracted. He reaches towards the bedside table to get the lube and hands it to Kevin. Kevin blinks at it for a moment as though he’s having difficulty interpreting the meaning of it, then uncaps it and coats his fingers.

Connor shifts to give him better access, and, Kevin’s fingers are always so darn gentle, as though he’s terrified of hurting him, and it’s such a contrast to Connor’s old nightmares. He loves it and hates it a little at times because it feels so good and so frustrating and at this stage, Connor just wants _more_. He pushes down against Kevin’s fingers, moans in frustration when Kevin withdraws his hand and dries it on the sheets. “That enough?”

“Yes,” Connor replies, breathless. Kevin reaches for a condom (which he always insists on, despite the fact that for all Connor knows they both lost their virginity to each other) and more lube until Connor can’t wait anymore. He shifts back slightly, places a steadying hand on Kevin’s shoulder and lowers himself down. And maybe he could have done with a little more stretching beforehand, he thinks, but at this point Connor doesn’t care anymore. He lowers himself slowly, feeling Kevin shudder beneath him, until he’s taken everything in.

For a few moments he doesn’t move as he has to accommodate for the feeling of fullness inside him, intense in a way that takes over his entire mind and body. He can hear Kevin’s short, hitched breaths and realizes that he has his eyes closed, which is really such a waste.

He opens them and meets Kevin’s eyes. His boyfriend has a concentrated wrinkle between his eyebrows and his cheeks are flushed, his hair mussed. “Hi.”

Kevin lets out a shaky breath of a laugh. “Please tell me when it’s okay to move.”

“I’m in more of a position to take care of it, I’d say,” Connor says, because it’s the truth. He braces himself and raises his hips, and now he’s loose enough to enjoy the feeling of the movement. And the more he does it the better it feels until it feels impossible to stop. Kevin moves the best he can in his position but in the end seems to have to accept that he has to let Connor take care of _that_ part. Instead he begins to run his hands over Connor’s back, from his shoulders and all the way down to his ass, and every touch creates tingles of pleasure like small electric bolts under his skin. And then finally he wraps his hands around Connor’s cock, pumping steadily until Connor can’t quite decide if he wants to grind into Kevin’s hand or down onto his cock.

Another thing Connor has learned about sex; it’s never _comfortable_. It’s frustrating, titillating, it’s like never being completely able to scratch that itch until those few shorts seconds of climax. And yet, now he’s almost reluctant to reach it, at least until he manages to shift so that Kevin hits _that spot_ inside him that makes it entirely impossible for Connor to think coherently. After hitting that spot a few more times, Connor is just gone.

He comes, mostly over Kevin’s shirt he thinks; he pushes up and down onto Kevin’s cock while Kevin strokes him through it, until the shockwaves abate and then, Connor just feels boneless and slumps down to catch his breath, hands still on Kevin’s shoulders for balance. He can feel Kevin’s arms come up to his back to hold him.

A few moments later, Connor realizes that Kevin is still trembling, pushing his hips up, and he raises his head.

“Please,” Kevin hisses, voice close to breaking. “Move?”

Guiltily, Connor begins to move again. He mostly feels loose, slippery, now as the desire has subsided, but he’s not so selfish as to let Kevin deal with this on his own. And the good part about this position is that Connor gets to enjoy watching Kevin fall apart beneath him. He bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut as he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. He looks like some wanton, sinful parody of a Mormon missionary and maybe it is revenge or maybe Connor just has a kink but it’s such a very enjoyable sight.

Once Kevin begins to relax beneath him, Connor leans forward and places a kiss on his forehead before he pushes himself off Kevin’s body to lean back beside him. He’s staining the sheets even more with the lube, but it’s probably a lost cause either way, he thinks. He pulls at the covers until he can cover himself somewhat, while Kevin pulls the condom off and throws it in the trash can before tucking himself back into his underwear and pants, not bothering to zip them up. And Connor hadn’t noticed before, but those are _temple garments_ he’s wearing, and Connor doesn’t know if he feels scandalized or simply appreciates Kevin’s attention to detail.

“You okay?” Kevin asks, like he always does after they’ve done this, as though he’s afraid that he actually hurt him somehow, or maybe that Connor is going to burst from spontaneous religious guilt.

Connor nods, then notices that Kevin is scrubbing at a wet spot on his tie and feels his cheeks heat up. “Oh. Sorry about that.”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not like I use it anymore.” Kevin looks up, half-grin on his face, perhaps a little embarrassed still. “I mean, sort of. Was it what you wanted?”

“No.” Connor thinks about his old hell dreams, and about Kevin, and how things seems to align so perfectly somewhere in the middle. “It was better.”

“You are so weird,” Kevin says again, like he can’t imagine where Connor gets his ideas from, but he doesn’t sound like he minds much.

And Connor shrugs, a little sheepish, and doesn’t say that it’s actually pretty easy when he has Kevin for inspiration.


End file.
